


Meet the Family

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bigfoot characters, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: Luke accompanies Bray on official Wyatt Family business.
Relationships: Luke Harper/Bray Wyatt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: fandomtrees





	Meet the Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetcarolanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetcarolanne/gifts).



> Happy New Year, sweetcarolanne! I hope your fandom-tree is bountiful! I was charmed by your prompt about the Wyatt Family + baby bigfoots (bigfeet?), and it was especially helpful this week to spend some time imagining Luke Harper having a nice moment. ♥

Night had already fallen by the time they reached the campsite, darkness held at bay by the glow of Bray’s lantern and the flicker of fireflies. The heat of the day had finally broken with the fading of the light, the air less thick in Luke’s lungs than it had been for most of their day’s journey, humping heavy packs through the woods, following a path apparent only to Bray.

“You will learn the route, over many happy returns,” Bray had said at mid-day, giving reassurance though Luke had spoken no doubt aloud. “Sister Abigail bids me have faith that this is only the beginning. The first of many pilgrimages you will make by my side.” He pushed aside a low-hanging mossy branch and ushered Luke forward along the imperceptible trail. “In time, the way will be clear to you, as it is to me.”

“I’ll just stay close ‘til then,” Luke had said, and waited for Bray to retake the lead.

“Afterward, too, I hope.” Bray had laughed then - the one that rumbled out, deep and delighted with the world; one of the sounds Luke had come to prize most of all - and taken Luke’s rough hand in his own strong grip, guiding him in deeper all the time.

The camp, nestled in the clearing beneath a stand of old, old trees - so tall Luke could not make out the boughs above them before the night closed over their heads - had been made ready for them. The ground was clear of litter, except for a thick mat of moss arranged carefully at the base of one of the trees, in an inviting spot for laying out their bedrolls, and two neat piles of fallen branches and scraps of kindling arranged between a circle of stones and a pair of logs shaped just right to be useful benches. A pair of large, flat-topped stones sat at the dim edge of the lantern’s light, the surface of one bare as a table waiting to be laid, the other heaped with parcels Luke couldn’t identify from a distance.

“We are expected!” Bray proclaimed, and threw his arms open wide, wheeling in a circle, face tipped up toward the unseen treetops, feet graceful despite the day’s miles and the bulky pack still on his shoulders.

Luke shrugged out of his own pack and set himself to building a small fire in the ring that had been made up for them, while Bray strode to the pair of table-stones, sending a cheerful hymn into the dark ahead of him.

By the time the fire was strong and crackling and Luke had seen to the bedding and the beginnings of a simple supper, Bray had arranged most of the contents of their packs across the top of the empty table-rock: glass jars of jam and salsa, apple butter and watermelon pickle, a ceramic jug of Erick’s mead and another of cherry wine, cakes of soap studded with lavender flowers and wrapped in paper the children had colored on in the compound schoolroom, cloth sacks filled with cornmeal and sugar and flour and dried leatherbritches, stings of bright plastic beads, fat sticks of colorful sidewalk chalk, and a coffee can full of cats-eye marbles.

Closer now, and with the lantern perched on its edge, Luke saw that the shapes he’d picked out before were baskets and bags, woven from vines and grasses and heaped full with produce: pecans and paper-skinned garlic, mushrooms smelling of rich earth, stalks of reddish rhubarb, persimmon, blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, more. A handful of reeds and branches whittled into penny whistles and spinning tops and little ape-like figurines with surprisingly detailed faces.

“Bounty for bounty.” Bray said, and moved to lift the stem of gourd, revealing how it had been cleverly hollowed out to become a lidded bowl, filled with golden honey, a thick, sticky chunk of comb in the center. He swirled a finger inside and brought it to his mouth. He grinned and stepped into the space between Luke and the spread. “Have a taste, brother.”

* * *

Luke woke to the unmistakable sound of hushed giggling. The space beside him in the pallet was empty now, but still warm from the heat of Bray’s body. He blinked against the thin light of dawn filtered through the pine boughs overhead and turned to face the sound.

A pair of deep brown eyes ringed with thick eyelashes met his own, and there was another delighted shriek of laughter. Small fists clenched and waved before a beaming face, all covered in a coat of lush brown fur.

He sat up slowly - anything this small had to be a baby, which probably meant a protective mama close by - and took in the rest of the camp. His visitor scampered past the embers in the fire ring and back to the stone tables, where Bray stood, looking improbably small next to a tall, broad form covered in the same thick, russet fur as the little one.

The sight would have put his back up, had him reaching for anything at hand that might make for a weapon, but Bray’s face set him back at ease. He was grinning broadly at another baby, this one smaller and darker-haired, as it stretched an arm down from its perch on the big one’s shoulder to pluck the hat off of his head. “Come, brother, and say hello to our guests.”

As Luke drew closer, the littlest one slung itself down from the grown-up’s shoulder to nuzzle into Bray’s hair, and the adult strode forward to meet him, crouching down a bit to bring its serene face close to his own. Deep-set amber eyes searched his face, and he held the gaze, even as a strong hand smoothed over his hair, and dropped to knead at his shoulder before settling on his chest. Long fingers curved over his heart, obviously strong, but also nimble enough to weave the reed baskets or the tiny beaded plaits he could now make out in the fine fur around the face and neck.

“I think she approves,” Bray said, coming closer, the baby still in tow, and she turned back to him with a low, rumbling sound and a swooping hand signal. He laughed and led them all back to the tables, where Luke’s first visitor had found the chalk and begun to draw a bright, squiggling sun on the smooth face of the rock, and a number of other small, fuzzy figures had begun to edge shyly into the clearing. The adult hooted softly and beckoned them nearer.

“We’ll meet in the middle, between here and home, to swap in quantity later on,” Bray said, “but in the meantime, she's let us come so close to show us the children.”

There was a tug on his pants-leg, tiny fingers leaving behind a smudge of yellow chalk on the denim. “Hello, little one.” He offered a hand, and the little one clambered up to cling around his neck. He curled an arm underneath its sturdy legs to better support its surprising heft, and it wrapped one tiny fist up in his beard and made a long string of chittering and cooing sounds, bright eyes intent on his own.

“They’re extra-excited,” Bray offered, leaning close, “because this is the first year I’ve brought a mate.”


End file.
